


Famous Last Words

by StHoltzmann



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Fluff, Gen, Slice of Life, Why Did I Write This?, morbid fluff, pure silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 04:49:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8131058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StHoltzmann/pseuds/StHoltzmann
Summary: "Wait, that's not a Pringle!"Holtzmann gets back to the firehouse earlier than planned, and she discovers that the others have been entertaining themselves while she was away.(This is purely weird fluff.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This scene popped into my head and I had to write it down to get it out. Completely smut-free ridiculousness.

Holtzmann, squinting at a handwritten note on the door of her third-favorite junk shop, grumbled to herself. Closed due to a family emergency? She couldn’t even legitimately complain about that, so she just shoved her hands in her pockets and strode away. The thrifting goddess was not smiling on Holtzmann today; her number-one favorite junk shop had been closed for repairs to the sewage system, and her second-favorite was on a block that was entirely shut down due to a gas leak. And she had really, really been hoping to find an old Intellivision console, or maybe some dolls with working recordable voice boxes. She had waiting projects with very specific needs, and they were getting sad and lonely.

Probably better to go back to the firehouse early. Maybe she could squeeze in a little work before the afternoon meeting—possibly even get one of her new, smaller control modules done enough that she could take it in and finish working on it _during_ the meeting. That thought put a little more spring into her step. Oh, and what was that ahead of her? Waffle cart ahoy! She hoped they’d have sprinkles. Lunch was always better with sprinkles.

* * *

 Holtzmann let herself into the firehouse. She could hear noises from the kitchen; probably the others were finishing up their lunches. She was about to yell up to them when her eye was caught by an open easel pad leaning against the wall. There was writing on it in four different colors, and it wasn't something she'd seen before. She dropped her backpack in the entryway and went to take a closer look.

It was a list of phrases. Holtzmann read them to herself.

> Hey you guys, watch this!
> 
> Don’t worry, I turned it off.
> 
> I wonder what happens when you do _this_?
> 
> Geronimo!
> 
> Et voila!
> 
> I bet it’s nicer than it looks.
> 
> Look, I upgraded the—
> 
> Always cut the red wire.
> 
> Trust me.
> 
> Wanna see something funny?
> 
> YOLO!
> 
> This is definitely not flammable. See?
> 
> This is definitely not radioactive. See?
> 
> This is definitely not explosive. See?
> 
> Whaaaaat?
> 
> I can reach it!
> 
> It's off. That means I turn it on, and just walk away.
> 
> Huh, that’s weird.
> 
> I think I just discovered a new element!
> 
> What does that button do?
> 
> Did you guys see that too, or was it just me?
> 
> It doesn’t affect humans at all.
> 
> Now for a taste test.
> 
> Wait, that’s not a Pringle.
> 
> Whoops.
> 
> Look at the size of that thing!
> 
> Laws of physics, schmaws of schmysics.
> 
> I’m gonna poke it with a stick.
> 
> YOU MIGHT WANNA HOLD ON TO SOMETHING!
> 
> Does anyone know what my iron level is?
> 
> Oh yeah. This lab is safe.

 

Holtzmann scratched her chin and stared at the list, puzzled. Then she heard the clatter of footsteps on the stairs behind her—briefly, before the noise came to an abrupt halt.

“Oh crap!” That’d be Abby.

“Let’s just go back upstairs and take the fire ladder down and never come back.” Erin, not sounding like she was joking.

“Little late for that now!” And Patty.

“You guys, I can _hear_ you,” said Holtzmann, turning around. “Somebody explain this to me! Is it a really weird refrigerator magnet poem? Without the fridge? Or the magnets…or the poetry…”

The other three women shuffled down to join her. Kevin had probably headed out after lunch, but Holtzmann felt pretty sure that the single item in nearly illegible yellow, the one that read “YOLO!”, was his.

“Well, y’see, it’s…” Abby took off her glasses and cleaned them on her black cardigan. She put them back on and her eyes slid to Patty and Erin. “It’s… _help me out here, you guys!_ ”

Patty sighed and put one hand on her hip. “I don’t even remember who started it, OK? But before lunch we just kind of started having a little friendly competition.”

“For…?” asked Holtzmann, still genuinely baffled but increasingly entertained.

“I can’t take it!” Erin burst out. “It was for your most likely last words! But we were just kidding around! I’m so sorry!” She covered her face with her hands and slowly attempted to maneuver herself so that Patty was between her and Holtzmann.

“Yeah.” Abby gestured at the paper. “That would be it. Those are our nominations for Jillian Holtzmann’s last words.”

Holtzmann turned back to the list, an eyebrow raised. Then she looked back at the others.

“This is _very_ morbid,” she said. There was a brief pause. “I like it!”

There were three simultaneous sighs of relief.

“Before you get mad, that YOLO! was Kevin’s sole contribution,” said Patty.

Erin nodded. “To be honest, I don’t think he understood what we were doing.”

Holtzmann shrugged. “That’s a county in California, right? Weird choice, Kev. But how about this ‘Whaaaaat?’ That’s not a thing I say, is it?”

Abby coughed. “You said it three times this morning before you left. In fact, it’s Erin’s go-to line when she impersonates you.”

“ _Abby!_ ” Red-faced, Erin shrank back behind Patty even more.

“I’m gonna have to leave a camera on next time I go out,” Holtzmann said thoughtfully. “But, sorry guys. I mean, I love the ‘poke it with a stick’ one, but this competition will end without a winner. Those last words are all wrong.”

Patty tilted her head. “Now what’s that supposed to mean?”

Holtzmann took a photo of the list with her phone and popped it in a pocket. Then she slung her bag back onto her shoulder, ready to head up to the second floor.

“My last words? I’ve already got ‘em written down,” she said.

Holtzmann grinned, snapped a salute, and just left them there, staring at her, open-mouthed.


End file.
